Cheatsheets
by RandomHatTheif
Summary: USCAN/AmericaXCanada. Everyone gets Canada mixed up for his brother. What if Arthur and Francis found a solution? What happens when their ploy sparks a snowball effect with the brothers?
1. Chapter 1

Cheatsheet

USXCAN

* * *

><p>"Hey Matt!" Matthew Williams rotated slightly in his chair as the familiar voice – so very similar to his own – called him out, "We sorta match!" He moved his eyes down to the cloth hanging loosely from his twin's chest. It was a bright blue hoodie with the American flag printed on it. Alfred held his arms out spread-eagle as he strode forward, a huge grin on his face. Matt deadpanned. He was wearing the exact same style of hoodie, only red with the Canadian flag on it.<p>

It had been a gift from Arthur. He got to his feet and met the other blonde halfway. He was met with a smile as Alfred brought his arms in towards his body in a kind of shrug.

"You like?" He couldn't reply, only take hold of the cloth and stretch it out to flatten it for a better view of the flag he saw mass produced each time he went for a visit. 13 stripes. 50 stars. 3 colors. Alfred waited, eventually dropping his arms and forcing his hands into his pocket. Recently, he'd put on a little weight – mostly in muscle, but whatever – and had become self-conscious about it. Matthew blink up at him.

"Where'd you get it, Al?" Alfred refused to meet the blue-violet stare, choosing to preoccupy himself with the seascape outside the window.

"Francis. I got off my flight and he forced it over my head." He began to pick at his sleeve then, getting bored.

"Funny, Arthur gave me mine. He called it a house warming present." At this, Alfred stared back at him. Arthur was _always _sour about loosing a colony – or Commonwealth – even peaceably. Call it a twin thing, but they both snapped their heads around to their former "big brothers".

Francis was flirting with Arthur, and the Brit was attempting to ignore the fact that he was enjoying it. Matthew growled in the back of his throat.

"Matt?"

"Eh?"

"Why would they give us matching hoodies with our flags on them?"

"It's not because they think it's cute for twins to dress alike." He continued glaring at the men as Alfred snickered beside him. He broke his glare as rose his eyebrow at Alfred, whom was holding up his iPhone. There was a picture of them when they were young, wearing matching nighties.

"We _were_ cute though."

"You're a sentimental prick, you know that?"

"Hmm? Love you too Mattie. But seriously, whatcha thinkin'?"

"Something along the lines of them being terrible friends that can't tell us apart."

"Ditto." They both turned glares down at their hoodies and Alfred grinned wickedly, "Matt, switch hoodies with me."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

An RP-turned-Fic with **my** uke. We only got about half way through before sleep **stole** us both. I kept going the next day.

She seems **happy** that I'm posting it.

-**RHT** 3


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

* * *

><p>The rest of the G-20 meeting was spent with Alfred folding a super sharp, rigged-with-a-paperclip-and-a-thumbtack paper airplane in secret. No one seemed to notice him anyway – as long as he stayed quiet. Though Barack did send him an odd look when he sat down with his brother's flag on. He just smiled at his President and plucked the rubber band from his pocket.<p>

After Denmark finished his podium time, he looked around the meeting table, skipping over Alfred three or four times. He was expecting it, bit it felt weird to stare at someone who couldn't seem to see you. His eyes settled a few seats over, on Matthew. He paused, moving his eyes to Stephen Harper. No, that wasn't right. Alfred snickered to himself as the Dane looked around for his President. After finding dear Obama, he opened his mouth to stutter,

"Ah, iz America's turn..." His eyes moved about the room again and Alfred stopped smiling. This was a little ridiculous. He rose to his feet, straightened his papers and took the stand.

"Thanks dude." He smiled at the tall Dane as they switched places, ignoring the confusion from the other nations and starting his issue," Now, gotta be srsface about this. Libya. I think-"

'_Bullocks_!' Arthur sat wide-eyed and gaping at the blonde at the podium. He sounded like America, he looked like America – which didn't mean much in this situation – and he was talking in America's place, but there he stood, wearing the hoodie he specifically gave Canada.

"Quoi?" Arthur could hear the breathless whisper from the mouth of the Frenchie beside him. He turned his eyes to catch Francis's. Neither seemed to completely comprehend what was happening, but they had a feeling they were being set up. Neither knew what to attempt to convey when Denmark looked to them, curious. Instead Francis just shook his head toward his drinking buddy and crossed his legs in thought.

Arthur however, as much as he'd love to slump in his chair and analyze this, prepared to take his turn as the center of attention. He watched as America – it had to be America – took the long way round, nonchalantly bumping fists with his look alike.

"Yo Artie, you're up." That was America talking, no one else could pull off that nasal accent with so much skin-crawling finesse.

"I know that, Git." He glared down at his papers, not really sure which of the North Americans to direct it to.

Alfred snickered as he took his seat again and pulled the airplane he'd been working on out of his brother's pocket. It looked great. Several people looked around, settling their eyes on Matt, and Alfred found himself staring too, but for a completely different reason.

Mattie looked _really _good in his flag. He let his mind wander around to wherever it wanted now that no one was paying attention to him. He could feel that evil little plot bunny crawling its way through his stomach as he watched Matt's face take on a red tint at all his new attention. It was adorable. Alfred imagined himself being the cause of that blush, hovering over the other blonde, kissing him, twirling his fingers around that curl...

"-merica?"

"Huh?" The American jerked himself up, spinning in his chair to face Denmark. He'd only half heard the dude, what had he missed? "He-heyy Denmark! Dude, how ya been?" He clapped his hand on the Dane's shoulder and grinned like an idiot.

"Oh. It iz you!" He was engulfed and given a friendly noogie, "you should 'ave told us all about you and Canada!"

"Wha? Whatcha mean man?" Alfred watched carefully as Denmark walked away, shrugging as he went and calling over his shoulder,

"Ya know vat I mean."

Alfred stood there, his hands stuffed in the hoodie pocket. He couldn't see himself, but he could feel the "STUMPED" printed out on his forehead. With a chuckle, he composed himself again and turned to President Obama with a stupid grin.

"Yo! Barack, you still have that disposable camera from Argentina? I wanna get those prints!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

Stephen Harper is the Canadian Prime Minister.

Barack Obama is the President of the United States of America.

Obama recently went on a vacation to South America.

[American Fans] Argentina is the big, long country in South America.

The one to the East.

Yanno, your right.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

* * *

><p>Call it what you will: nerves, a habit, etc... but Matthew found himself pulling at the cloth on his chest that was clearly not his. How long had he spent trying to keep these stars and stripes off his body, and now here he was having willingly pulled it over his head.<p>

He felt a little suffocated.

All the stares he was getting. Now they could see him, they knew he existed, but that didn't mean it felt any better when they looked him dead in the eyes and _still _wondered if he was his brother. And this hoodie was hot. It clung to his wrists and waist like Alfred might if he was a.) dragging him somewhere or b.) tackling him in football again. It was light blue instead of red, and it made him look more tan than he was used to seeing. That blasted American flag splayed out across his chest in fabric paint, cracking in some places just like the maple on his was doing.

He caught the eye of an Asian nation as he attempted to make it to his hotel room without trouble. He was pretty sure it was China that had been staring at him, but he couldn't be sure, the guy had looked away just as quickly as he'd looked up.

All this attention was awkward. He'd started this thinking that people would go "Ameri- no wait, that's Canada!" Then they would laugh, pat him on the back like Arthur did when he was proud and go about their way, maybe even strike up a conversation with him. Of course, none of that went down.

And to top it all off, he was pissed and disappointed. Having Arthur forget him wasn't too bad. The man probably had some sort of complex after loosing his favorite child and being forced to raise his twin. He could blame Alfred for that easily. If he'd just dealt with the taxes, if he'd asked more nicely, if he'd stayed a colony...

"MATT! Hey Mattie wait up!" He turned, irritation playing through the eyes behind his glasses. America was jogging toward him now. Bright blue eyes glinting deviously as he passed, catching Matt's bicep and dragging him forward at a faster pace. The Canadian couldn't do much aside from following along with his brother, keeping stride pretty easily after he got his footing back. Eventually he and Alfred made it to the elevator and Alfred pressed the button for his floor, then looked back at Matthew. Still peeved, he reached around his sibling and pressed the 4 himself. Al shrugged it off and leaned against the wall.

"Dude, I wish you could have seen his face!" He snickered, his shoulders rising with each "hee" he let out. As much as he didn't want to admit it, his interest had been peaked.

"Whose?" Traitor tongue.

"Artie's! I made a paper airplane and I hit him in the head with it!" He winked at Matt then, and the blonde didn't get the joke.

"Why?" His brother could be so immature...

"Well, first I rigged it with a thumbtack so it would hurt, and I was gonna shoot it at that Commie Bastard, but then we figured out Arthur and Francis were being dicks and I thought they needed it more."

"You hit Francis too?"

"Nah, I didn't see him."

It sort of surprised him when he didn't feel better after hearing that his father for all intensive purposes had been spared. His own flag glared at him from the broad, proud, mildly toned chest of his brother. Staring at him and reminding him that his own Papa needed help picking out the face of the boy he'd so stubbornly raised apart from Arthur. Surely he should know the difference between him and, Matthew stared sideways as Alfred text on his phone, shoving it back in his pants pocket and raising his arms to prop them at the base of his neck, and _that_. Surely. Al was loud and confident and showy. Every street(if not building) in the U.S. had a flag and every citizen could brag about having won every war their country had ever been in.

The superpower.

The best example of Capitalism in the world.

Land of the Free and Home of the Brave.

"Then Denmark came up and he sorta confused me. He said I 'should've told him about you and me' and when I asked he just walked away. I'm pretty sure he knew we're brothers. I mean, how dense would he have to be not to know that?" Alfred scratched the back of his neck and laughed. Matthew, however, was staring at his brother, mouth agape.

Denmark...

Thought...

"Alfred! Denmark thinks we're gay!"

Alfred F. Jones stopped laughing.

* * *

><p><strong> AN: **Review please? You know I love you for it~ 3

-RHT.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

* * *

><p>"I s'pose that explains why he looked so cheeky." Alfred brought his knuckle to his mouth and bit down on it as he thought. He still hadn't sat down even after they'd reached his room and went inside to discuss a plan of action. Now, he was pacing and Matt sat at the two person table and fidgeted angrily.<p>

How could anyone think he _liked _Alfred? He didn't like living North of America. He didn't like England's favorite child living South of him. Why the Hell would he fuck the man he so utterly did not like? He picked at his fingernails, chipping a piece off and flicking it to the floor.

He glared over his glasses at Alfred, only to see a very thoughtful, mischievous look on his face. _Oh fuc-_

"Mattie! I got an idea." America was suddenly in the chair across from him, one leg still extended sideways with his torso facing the Canadian. His brows set low on the dark blue eyes staring over his glasses.

"What could you possibly think up to get out of this, Alfred?" That sentence sparked something in the American, and he exploded back onto his feet, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Bare with me, if we pretended to be boyfriends and go around being all gay and lovey-dovey," Alfred raised his eye brows expectantly as Canada's face started to twitch, "Imagine how screwed up Artie and Francis would be!" A moment passed during which nothing was said. Matthew considered how very confused his "fathers" would be and found the idea starting to grow on him. Acting gay wouldn't be too horrible – he had no problem with gays, it was just never his cup-of-tea. And this was just acting after all. What was the harm?

"Alright Alfred, it could work. How are we going to do this?" He was effectively blinded by America's million kilowatt smile as the man darted across the room and called the front desk.

"I'd like to cancel my current reservation here. No ma'am, my stay was fine. Personal reasons. Thanks." Then he turned and started collecting his things.

"What are you-"

"Moving into your room." Al winked at him and Matthew resisted the strong urge to smack himself in the face. _Of course_. He spun on his heel and shook his head, staring at the wall for moral support, since he definitely wouldn't get any from Alfred. About halfway through his next thought, two arms snaked their way around his waist and the Canadian just about jumped out of his skin. A chin found his shoulder and he jerked his head sideways in time to witness Alfred's pout start anew. Note: It was just about impossible for a Canadian to yell at a pouting American.

"Mattie, if you're not gonna play with me on this they'll never believe it. You're Tsundere can only get you so far." Alfred smiled again, and hugged him tight, "But don't worry! I'm the hero and I'll make you fall in love with me!"

The object of this new found affection could only laugh lightly and shrug, a ghost of a smile gracing his face.

"Y-yeah. I guess you're right Al."

After that, Alfred kissed Matthew's cheek and they started moving his things to the next floor up.

"Ah! Did you see zat, Angleterre? Our boys are in amour!" Francis all but melted on the carpet as he and Arthur watched carefully from the utility closet. Arthur was very much in denial about the whole thing.

"Shut your mouth, Frogface. I don't believe it."

"Non? 'ow can you not? Do you not see ze amour coming off zem in waves? It's merveilleux!"

Arthur's face joined Francis' staring through the crack they'd left as Alfred awkwardly took Matthew's hand. On instinct, Matt's face lit up red and Alfred snickered, reaching over to poke his brother's reddened cheek.

"You look cute like that, Mattie."

The elevator door closed securely and Francis burst from the closet humming passionately and spinning on his toes, every now and again letting out a baritone line from whatever Froggy song he had playing in his head then.

Arthur on the other hand, stood staring at the elevator doors wondering when this had happened, that is to say, until Francis took him by the waist and started turning him in familiar ball room circles.

"WHY THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU HUMMING BEAUTY AND THE BEAST?"

* * *

><p><strong>NA: **

Have it.

I'm done with it.

Reviews are lifeblood 345

-RHT


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

* * *

><p>This whole joke wasn't too bad after all, even after Al heard "something" and puppy-dogged his way under the covers. He moved a lot in the beginning, trying to settle, but when he was out, he barely moved. Matthew was forced to roll over for the sake of his spine's health and found himself staring awkwardly at the sleeping face of the blonde he was sharing a hotel room with.<p>

Believe it or not, Alfred was pretty bearable when he was asleep. His eyelids stayed closed, jerking every now and then as he watched his dreams run by – there was no telling what exactly those baby blues were seeing now. Eyes that would blink open to the blurry room in the morning, just like Matt's would. The Canadian took the moment of courage – because it was intimidating to stare Alfred F. Jones in the face with his bright-as-the-Sun smile glaring at you – to take him in properly. Now, his hair was never presentable, but in his sleep, it fluffed and curled and fell over his face so that Matt could barely make out the tanned freckles sprayed across Al's nose.

Cute.

Wait. What? No, no, no, no, noooooo.

He had _not _just referred to that American across the sheets as cute. Alfred was... Well... Matt's forehead creased and his eyes narrowed as he looked for the word, watching for signs of consciousness from his bed mate. If Alfred woke up and found him staring, God, he'd never live it down. Alfred wasn't ugly. He wasn't mature-looking enough to be handsome though. He looked about twenty.

But he was definitely not cute.

Matthew rolled back over and sighed loudly. This wasn't happening.

Nope.

He wasn't gay for Alfred.

Not at all.

"Mattie?" Alfred's voice didn't scare him, but he hadn't heard it all roughed up from sleep and he jumped a little. Al's voice cracked and he tried fruitlessly to clear his throat. Matthew resisted the urge to roll onto his back and catch the look on his face.

"What is it?" That came out much more snappy than he'd meant it, and for a second, he felt bad. But maybe it was better to be a little snarky with Alfred right now. _Make me fall in love with you, yeah right..._

"You a'ight bro?" The mattress shifted beneath him as Al moved around, leaning over to rest his chin on Matt's shoulder, watching him carefully with sleepy, half lidded eyes. Matthew only dared a glance at the expression. He didn't say anything, only shaking his head. A thought crossed his mind: how long would Alfred stay up with him? That would be mean, Al looked tired. Canada liked attention though, and he was enjoying this now to some extent.

Alfred quirked an eyebrow and Matt shook his head.

"Mattie. Secrets and relationships don't work." He whined into his Canadian's ear – barely covered by misplaced strawberry blonde waves – and wrapped an arm snugly around this guy he was with. Only to have his own brother squirm out of his touch.

Alfred retracted his arm, forcing a laugh at the rejection. But he was the hero. Heros don't let that kinda stuff get to them. So, he tugged the comforter over his shoulder with a smile and tried to lull himself back to sleep with thoughts.

He wrapped his arms around his stomach in attempt to make himself feel better on the inside. It always got cold there when Matt ignored him or rejected him. It didn't hurt, but it made him want to walk away. He was the hero, and every hero has a weakness. His weakness just so happened to be his other half, and that half just so happened to be able to strip him of everything.

They'd fit together perfectly though, if Matt would give it a shot.

Maybe that's why this prank didn't feel wrong to him. Why he liked laying next to Matt now, even if he wasn't all that welcome. Oh well, this plan would work. He had planned it over and over now, and he was still going to make it better.

Oh yeah, it would work.

It had to.

* * *

><p>There were few things in life that could aggravate Matthew Williams, and having his dream world ripped from the forefront of his mind by the alarm on Alfred's cell phone blaring American Idiot. Which happened. At about 6 in the morning. On a Friday that they had off because no one took the meetings seriously anymore. When it started going off, two things happened; one, Matthew jerked the covers over his head and grumbled about the song title being true, and two, Alfred all but seized – flailing included – out of bed in attempt to shut the noise off. Eventually, the blasting stopped and Alfred laughed quietly.<p>

Matthew ignored him for the most part, but it was hard to ignore it when he reached back over the bed to tuck the comforter in so no cold air could hit Matthew. Then, he did something he rarely ever does.

"Sorry about that Mattie. I'm gonna go take a shower now babe."

The nickname was awkward and unneeded, but the actions were kind of sweet.

* * *

><p><strong>NA: **Eh. Written, Reread, Rewritten, Beta'd, Fixed, Rewritten...

I'm done with this chapter.

Less fluff now, more plot.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Alfred F. Jones, Hero extraordinaire, stepped out of the shower, and began to rummage through the towels on the counter.

Clothes... clothes... clothes... Damn. He'd forgotten his clothes. With a smirk playing on his lips, he wrapped a towel around his waist and moved to the door. Now, Alfred was never one to be shy, but if he could make an entrance, well dammit, he'd make one. He cracked the door and poked his head through enough to make out the blob still in the bed as his brother.

Well, no entrance then.

Instead, he slipped the rest of himself through – holding the towel in place, mind you – and walked as silently as possible over the cheap carpet.

Crap. Now where'd he leave his jean last night? Alfred brought a hand to mesh with his hair as he went back through what he did last night before crawling into bed...

* * *

><p>Damn him. Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.<p>

Why was Alfred so damn magnetic? No no, not I-want-to-touch-him magnetic(which, Matthew allowed himself the beginnings of a daydream about his brother's near perfect skin) but that's not the point. He was like a chemical spill. Like _oil_. Once it gets on you, you cannot wash it off. You feel it in your skin. You want a bath(though Matt was yet to decide if he wanted Al to be present during this bath or not).

And now there he goes, being all cute and pet-namey. But above that, he comes out of the shower, still dripping, in a towel. He even did it quietly.

Why wasn't he being himself? Why wasn't he nagging and stomping around and twirling his fingers suggestively, asking if he could just wear Matt's pants? It was driving the Canadian mad... He tore his eyes away from the smooth curvature of one American's back, interrupted only by the broad shoulder blades that creased his clothes wonderfully when he sat a certain way, to clear his mind of his brother's image.

Oh look, dark wash jeans. Jeans that fit Alfred's ass like no other pair Matt had seen on the louder of the two. Despite how very _not _gay for Alfred he was, those jeans on that ass could make even a straight man wonder.

"They're by the bathroom door Alfred." Matt refused to acknowledge the spark that lit in Alfred's eyes as soon as he spoke, though his voice cracked something awful. He'll also actively deny the heat that rose to his cheeks when Alfred walked over, picked up his pants, and started undoing the towel at his waist. He held it for a second or so that Matthew couldn't see from his angle in the bed(he had NOT moved the comforter for a better look!) and smirked devilishly as he let go with one set of fingers, knowing the eyes glued to the towel as it swung past his flesh and the other hand whipped it over his shoulder.

Boxers. That prick had been wearing boxers the whole damn time. Matthew deadpanned, glaring at the older nation and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. With a laugh that echoed through the room – not loud per say, but the kind that rumbled through someone's chest and hits you more than your ears – he walked over and placed himself happily hovering over Matt.

Said Canadian flipped the covers down from over his face, still red and irritated looking. Alfred smiled down, and leaned down quickly to plant a peck on Matthew's forehead, right where the baby hair started to grow.

"Morning handsome." Of all the mind boggling things to say... it didn't even register. Matt was too busy trying to to focus on the fact that Alfred was pretty much sitting on him, having neglected to put his jeans _on_. The boxers were relatively tight. That organ was relatively obvious, despite not being "awake".

"Al, get off. I have to get dressed." He shoved a little at his brothers chest, leaning up as the body above him receded. He forced himself from the covers, a task made easier by the need to get away from an overly affectionate American on the sheets. He made quick work of grabbing his things and hiding in the bathroom. He glanced at himself in the mirror, half used to the red tinting his cheeks by now. The shower glass was stilled fogged from it's earlier use...

Oh dear Christ... Alfred had been _naked _in there.

No, no, no, no, nooooo. He wasn't gay. His pants weren't getting too small. He really, _really_, needed to hurry up and get used to this treatment.

Matt stripped himself, obviously ignoring a certain pulsing in his nether regions, and twisted the handles. He let his mind wander a bit now that the door was locked and he was free from trying to force his mind clean. Would Al _keep _doing this? What about when they have to go home? He reaaaaally didn't look forward to talking his boss into letting him spend copious amounts of time at the White House. Jeez, the secret service would be down his throat, what with the burnt-to-the-ground fiasco those years ago...

Wait, what was he talking about? They were doing this to get back at Arthur and Francis. They'd confuse them and it'd be over. No more "morning handsome". No more one-sided affection. No more attention.

Hmm, he must be hungry or something, seeing as how his stomach hurts now. He had a bitter taste on his tongue as he reached for his toothbrush. Disappointment tastes like morning breath...

* * *

><p>It wasn't a thirty minutes later when Alfred stepped in front of him, blocking his path to open the closed hotel door. He raised an eyebrow at his brother's next actions. Alfred stood in the hallway, smiling brightly and holding the door open. Al got to watch as the blood rushed up Matt's neck and across his cheeks. He was gorgeous.<p>

Unfortunately, he was also adorably shy and quickly moved his violet eyes to the floor, stepping over the threshold and walking down the hall.

'Alright. Now or never.' Al let out a breath he'd been holding since the idea popped into his head and hurried to catch up to his younger counterpart. He slipped his fingers into Matthew's with as much prowess as possible. He decided to explain himself before the question could get out.

"Yanno, since we're a couple," he quoted the term, "then Francis, at least, will expect us to hold hands."

"Y-yeah, they might g-get suspicious if we don't." Matthew wouldn't dare admit that his heart was hammering through his rib cage in a desperate attempt to either a.) let the butterflies out, or b.) kill him. This. This was going to be a confusing day to say the least.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **You may not consider my groveling for forgiveness for how very very very very LATE this chapter is. I swear I've redone it so many times trying to perfect Matt's temperament change.

Also, look forward to Matt being different in front of "people" than he he's forced into a small room with naught but Alfred and his emotions.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Walking down the hall was perfect(mildly awkward, but amazing). Seriously dude, he'd lost count of exactly how many failed schemes to hold Matt's hand like they did when they were kids –like they were now– he'd made and planned out. Which, Matt wasn't saying much, so Al had some time to think.

It had been a gradual, albeit natural, thing for him to fall in love with Matt, but it had started really pointing itself out around puberty. When he was a little kid, Matt was just his brother and cuddling him and kissing him and holding his hand was just something they did. Then when they grasped the concept of sexual reproduction, they stopped. Matt had stopped smiling at the act, and instead flushed and wriggled away. Now, don't get him wrong, Al had girlfriends, he'd had kisses, he'd had sex, but all that time there was something missing. The sex was just lust. The girlfriends liked him and asked him and he'd said yes out of courtesy.

He'd never fallen for anyone outside of his brother. Every aspect of Matthew's being was perfect in every possible sense of the word. He'd always admired him and even been envious of the way people complimented him. And he'd noticed he started _hating _people for hitting on him, for giving him _those _looks. Ha! Like they'd ever have been good enough for Matthew Williams. Matt deserved someone perfect; someone to take care of him, make him smile, make him laugh, give him butterflies, take him out, and be the best possible lover in the world. So Alfred tried. He grinned in spite of himself and squeezed Matt's hand as they entered the lobby where all the other nations were eating breakfast and chatting.

Matt jerked his head up to stare at his brother as soon as he felt the pressure. Had Alfred really just squeezed his hand? What the Hell? But when he looked, Alfred was just smiling(like always) and checking out the breakfast bar. Matt pulled himself away from the American and slid himself into a booth as his "boyfriend" piled two plates full. How he managed to carry them over to the table Matt didn't care. It was early. He was tired and hungry and kinda grumpy and it didn't bother him a bit to take the plate gestured toward him when Alfred slid into the other side. He downed half his coffee and several pancakes before he woke up completely, just because his appetite was as notorious as his brother's didn't mean it was much smaller(he's the second largest country, he needs food).

Alfred had his arm slung over side of the booth, with his head cocked sideways into that arm as he chewed. A smug smile slipped its way onto Matthew's lips. Ha. He was tired too. Then that smile faltered a bit, he'd woken Al up last night... he started to feel bad, and poked Alfred with his foot.

"Eh. You okay?" Al jerked a little and swallowed hard.

"Huh? Oh, yeah yeah. I'm fine." He watched his brother force a bright smile, but it didn't really reach his eyes this time, not like earlier when they walked in.

"Alf-"

"Excuse us, America," Japan had appeared at their booth at that moment, with Hungary in tow, "Canada." Kiku bowed to them, and Elizabeta smiled sweetly.

"We came by to congratulate you guys on finally getting together. Do you mind if I get a picture of the happy couple?" She held up a pink digital camera and giggled like a schoolgirl. Alfred lit up like a light blub and Matthew's face flushed.

"Of course!" Before he knew what was really happening Alfred had joined him on his side of the booth, slug an arm over his shoulders(which was normal), and pressed his lips into the side of a rather warm Canadian face as the flash went off and Japan smiled behind the camera wielding Hungarian. Alfred pulled away with a smile stretched from ear to ear, staring at Matt for a second before turning to Elizabeta and craning his neck to see the image.

"Did you get a good one?"

"Yep. That was adorable, America!" They continued to chatter for a moment about the situation, while Japan retained Matthew's attention.

"You have my congratulations, Canada-san. I am glad America-kun finally told you about his feelings. I believe you two will be happy." And then they left as quickly as they came, with Elizabeta handing the camera over to Kiku and him covering his smile politely as they walked. Matthew, however, was still thinking about what the Japanese man had just said.

This was a joke. A prank between himself and Alfred. Alfred didn't... yanno, _like _him. Matt glanced over towards the American in question, still sitting beside him. Alfred winked and downed the rest of his coffee happily and started clearing his half of the table. Matt followed quickly and chunked his trash in the bin. After which, he found a hand sliding idly into his, lacing their fingers. Matt jumped, still not used to it, and stood stunned as his wrist was turned and brought to his brother's lips.

What. The. Maple. Fucking. Hell.

Let the meter start here: Something began happening that morning, and slowly over the next few days while waiting on their bosses to deal with their drama and decide, Al kept up on the little things. He'd peck Matt's cheek, or his hand, or his shoulder, or just wrap his arms around a continuously red faced Canadian. Now, they didn't spend all their time being a couple, but as the days progressed, Matt found himself starting to wonder what Alfred was doing when ever he had nothing else to think about. He started looking around for the idiot(to make sure he could shield his vital organs when he got glomped, that is), and one day it just so happened that he had woken up alone, and was having some trouble nonchalantly looking for his American counterpart...

He turned a corner, too lost in his own thoughts to help himself from jumping a bit as his "Papa's" smooth French-accented voice registered in his ears.

"Bonjour Matthieu, you are looking for someone, non?"

"O-oh, no. I was just stretching my legs, eh."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

Urg. I should be more proud of this.

Hope you guys like, and I almost cried with joy of all the reviews I got man~ They were soooo sweet.

~ 3


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Ah, I see. It took me a moment to make sure it was you." The Frenchman gestured to the Canadian's hoodie now clinging to its rightful owner's chest, "For the past few days it has been L'Amérique behind your flag." Francis put up a smile, aiming to find some sort of explanation as to why his brilliant idea had failed. Matthew's face turned a nice shade of bashful and he fidgeted with the fabric over his midsection, an unexpected smile gracing his lips.

"Yeah. Al said he wanted to switch, something about wanting a piece of me to walk around with, but he grabbed the wrong one this morning." Alfred had said no such thing, but Matt had come to think of it like that. By now, he loved the way Al's hoodie fit him, like constantly being on the receiving end of one of those American bear hugs. Or when he'd have to let go of his brother's hand(because Al had to follow Barack into all those extra meetings) and his fingers would get cold, so he'd shove his hands in the giant pocket of the clothing that wasn't his own.

"Honhon~ You and Alfred are an item, then?" Ah yes. The question he'd been avoiding. Matt let out a breath he'd sucked in earlier and lifted his eyes to stare at Francis.

This man raised him.

This man taught him to speak.

This man lost him to the British Empire.

Did he even fight to get him back?

Alfred would.

"Yeah," it came out quietly, much to quiet for the Canadian's liking, "Yeah. We are." something sparked with that admission, just a private way of claiming the infamous United States of America for his own. Even if it did end as a failed prank in the next few days, he'd deal with that heartbreak then. Now...

Matthew smirked, straightening his back and tucking his hands in the pocket of the red fabric, "Y'know Papa, it surprised me when you gave me this thing. I was sure you were sick."

"Oh? Why is that, mon petit Mattieu?" Francis arched an eyebrow at the younger blonde, a charming smile spread over his teeth, with his posture confident and sleek. Matthew's change in attitude had not gone unnoticed, now, that is not to say the sudden confidence in his former charge's shoulders didn't serve to confuse the Frenchman more; it certainly was puzzling. But more importantly, Matthew thought he was sick? He'd worked so hard on maintaining his usual suave complexion...

"Well you're always bragging about being so fashionable, never once while you took care of me did you allow me to look any less than stunning. Now, I admit I thought your sense may have been slipping over the years, I mean honestly, a cape? But that's aside the point. I never would have thought you'd have stooped to giving me a _hoodie_." Matt scoffed and picked at the cheap hem.

Francis stood frozen in shock, for surely if he moved what was left of his heart, holding on to the tendrils of his chest, would dive into his stomach and carve shame into his soul like the other pieces. Mon Dieu! Those years with that scone-eating English swine have given him such a tongue!

"Mattieu..."

The aforementioned Canadian slipped his cellular device from it's place in his pocket to check the time. His brows -thankfully thin- scrunched over his blue-violet eyes and he looked apologetically back at Francis.

"Pardon, Papa, but it's Kumajira's dinner time." And with that, an unusually self-assured North American turned on his heel and took his leave, leaving his pseudo-father behind to wallow in the guilt of having thought the idea to give his beloved young one such a fashion _atrocity_ was genius.

* * *

><p>Alfred let his forehead meet the table in front of him with a dull thud. Barack chastised him for this, but he ignored his president. He stared at the texture of the table he sat at. It wasn't wood. Probably some kind of synthetic plastic and fiberglass. Fiberglass is cheaper, and safer. The meeting wasn't interesting at all, most of the nations there were too sidetracks by their own thoughts to be bothered to pay attention. This subject had already been covered before, Alfred wasn't going to budge on his decision, and Barack wasn't going to talk him into it. So, his thoughts turned to Matthew and a smile crept onto his face, and so it stayed there until he was allowed to dart out of his chair and through the meeting room doors-<p>

And found himself staring at the top of Arthur's head. Curious, he glanced down. Oh _man, _Artie looked pissy. He hated it when Arthur was pissy at him for something -that is, if he didn't do it on purpose. Alfred tried to think if he'd done anything to the Brit lately...

"Alfred, son, we need to talk."

"I'm not your son, but sure. Shoot." Arthur crinkled his nose for a second, then smoothed himself and gestured for Alfred to follow him into the lobby. He took an arm chair and Alfred claimed the other in a much less dignified matter. He was scolded for that.

"C'mon Artie, you wanted t-"

"My name is _Arthur_ not _Arti-_"

"_Aaaanyway, _you have something to tell me?"

Alfred watched as his ex-brother/father-figure straightened a tie that was already cutting off circulation closer to his neck, laced his fingers, and stared over them at the superpower.

"Yes, it's about Matthew." Alfred's eyes narrowed considerably. _Great._ Now "Daddy" was going to swoop in and screw things up. Well, not if this hero has anything to do with it. "You two have been getting closer, and that's a wonderful thing -brotherly bonding, that is- but I'm stumped, lad. How far do you intend to take this fiasco with Matthew's feelings?"

_What?_

"Matt's feelings? What do you mean how far I'm taking it? I fully intend to take this as far as I can until he tells me to give up, that it's never going to happen." He set his jaw and stared at Arthur across the tiny table that should have held coffee and tea. Arthur glared at him.

"I _mean_, how long to you plan on toying with my son's heart until you get tired of him and toss him away like you do everything?"'

"I do not!" Alfred was leaned forward in his chair rigidly denying that. He would never -_could _never get tired of Matt. Matt had been with him since the beginning. They've only fought once -and Alfred blamed Arthur for that- and they didn't earn the prestige of having the most peaceful border in a few years. That's right, he and Matt have been happy with each other for two centuries. He could never-

"Oh? Name one ideal you've kept as a nation, one technology that hasn't been replaced with something better. Alfred, you don't even have to deal with your presidents longer than a few years, a few more if you like them. You've _never _stuck by something."

Daggers flew over the table, or they would have if Alfred could shoot daggers from his eyes. Flaming ones. He shouldn't really be this angry about that, it was all true. He'd replaced the Pony Express, the Transcontinental Railroad, the ground-wire phone systems, the horse drawn carriages, the Model Ts, just about everything. _That _was part of him growing into what he is today. He's proud of that. Arthur knocking Democracy was a low blow, but an expected one. But to name one ideal...

"Freedom, Arthur. I am the Land of the Free and I always will be. Liberty. Justice. The rights my citizens have as human beings. _That _is one thing I've stuck by. _That _is why I didn't stick by you." He glared again, having straightened himself in the chair, his shoulders up and his back straight. Alfred would like to think he looks diplomatic when he does this. Any nation watching the exchange would have to agree.

A knowing smirk crossed Alfred's lips when Arthur is too red in the face and emotionally unstable to say anything. Very well, he'll continue, "And Arthur?"

The Brit snapped his head up with a sharp glare. Alfred frowned, a glare still present on his face, but more subtle.

"I love Matthew. I have loved him for as long as I can remember-"

"Alfred what you're doing to Matthew is _not _bloody brotherly behavior!" Arthur snapped, raising his voice considerably despite having tried not to yell. Francis was a few couches away, no doubt listening to their conversation.

"Shut _up _already!" Arthur's jaw snapped closed of it's own accord, then set itself to grinding his bottom teeth into his top as he bit back his grumbling tongue. He'll be _damned _if Alfred is more mature than himself right now. Alfred waited for a second to make sure Arthur was done yammering.

"Good. Now listen, will ya? Of _course _I didn't love Matt like this when we were kids. I didn't love _anything _like this then. Time went on and eventually I came to realization that I was in love with him. Now, I'm attempting to prove to him that this isn't some trick like Gilbert played on him, and it's going to take some time and trust. I don't need _you _being the fuckery that ruins this," Alfred rose from the chair, "so _remain calm _and stay out of it."

Alfred turned on his heel and strode off, as soon as he was out of out shot, Arthur went off. With his face red and his fist flailing through the air, he ranted.

"That ungrateful _twat! _Where does he get off telling me that? _Remain calm, _I'll show him my remaining calm! Bugger! Stupid American swine!" He drove the ball of his foot into the floor in a glancing kick and spun around to pace some more, only to have himself mere centimeters away from a far too familiar prickly chin, and embraced by one French arm that was much to used to fitting into it's place around his side. He whacked Francis a good one on his chest with the palm of his hand. He glared up into glazed blue eyes, and took a moment to notice that there were no wandering fingers going for his pants, no hungry glint in those eyes. Hell, if he didn't know better, the Frog almost looked upset.

"Alright, out with it. What's got you?" He crossed his arms and glared at the section of Francis' collarbone he would see through the unbuttoned state of his satin shirt. His French counterpart only sighed and rested his chin in Arthur's hair.

"L'Angeterre." He cooed the name for a moment, dipping his head to press his mouth at the base of those mindless locks Arthur called hair, then returned his chin to it's place.

"Out with it, France." He snapped again, and nudged Francis' abdominals.

"_I think our boys are in l'amour. Mattieu snapped at me earlier when I mentioned Alfred. He claimed the brute as his own." _He sighed again, and tugged Arthur's shirt into his fist to punctuate his point. The Brit was silent for a moment, then turned his head down.

"I'm not sure if I should believe Alfred. He means it now, but in 500 years...?"

"_Loosing America now will crush him. Alfred was right, you know, about needed Mattieu's trust. He's got it now though..." _Francis stared at nothing over Arthur's head, his minds eye working more than his sultry blue ones as it recalled all it could and sifted for each bit of insight he could muster.

"You think I don't know that?" Arthur glared up at him, forcing his head to support itself as he looked down. Angry as he was, Arthur did care for the situation. He's too much of a softy for kids not to. Francis smiled lightly. "We'll just have to do something about it, before it gets worse."

"_Arthur, this is our fault to begin with. It started after we gave them those unholy articles of attempt at fashion, we lit that match and they sparked into a fire. We cannot douse them now."_

"Then what do you propose we do?"

"_Pray neither of them starts fighting the flames."_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** First off, _THANKYOUFORWAITINGONMYSLOWASS._

I love you guys for that, seriously.

This chapter took a while to get out, and I apologize for it's weirdness but I was attempting to better my style before I stuck this up, and life kept getting in the way.

_Pretend Italicized sentences are French~_


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

There was an anger there in Alfred's stomach as he walked away, and some doubt. If he were a weaker man, it would be more than simple to talk him out of his decision. _What if he _did _end up hurting Matt? What if he got tired of him one day? _They were all pretty solid questions, very possible to have happen. Maybe Matt would even get tired of _him_, you never know. But -and he was resigned to this- if the day comes that after they've gotten together, they need to break apart, so be it. It won't have to be a violently tragic thing.

Which, if Al's gut feeling is anything to go on, he'll be smitten with Matt for a long time, so this whole thing is unnecessary and he should just get back to smiling and getting his lunch because he's hungry.

* * *

><p>Nervous wasn't quite the word to describe the feeling in Matthew's stomach. Nervous was jitters and a little jump in your heart. Matt was in the middle of one of the worst feelings he could think of -a lot like being forgotten, but worse. His gut churned and his heart pounded in his chest. <em>Why? <em>Why had he said that to Francis? _Because I lost my temper. Stupid, stupid, stupid! _Violet eyes trained themselves on the floor as he kicked himself. What the maple was he going to do? What if it got back to Alfred? Oh _God_, it _would _get back to him and Al would flip and never talk to him again! Unless... A smile played across Matt's face. He and Al were _supposed _to be in.. in l-love, he could plat that off just fine. It was just him getting into the prank -teaching Francis not to forget about him. Ha! See if he forgets me after I spill feelings about America! He was grinning to himself, not entirely focused on the world around him(as he often didn't) when something -some_one_- slammed awkwardly into his chest and he stumbled, nearly falling over his own backpedaling feet.

A hand wrapped around his wrist, another caught his elbow, and a bout of light, nervous laughter filled the immediate space. Al shook his hair out and grinned with the wattage to power New York City for a week. Matt steadied himself and stepped back, fully intending to stutter out an apology when his tongue started working again. It was just that a certain American beat him to it.

"Heheh. Sorry about that dude," Al nudged him in the arm with a smile. He couldn't really protest. If anyone _was_ going to catch him, Al would be his first choice. He smiled.

"Thanks. Erm, it's fine. It was my fault anyway, e-eh." He tried to play it off, but his voice was still cracking. Alfred didn't seem to notice the awkwardness, even as his fingers slid themselves into the spaces they were made for -linking himself to Matt for the rest of the walk. Matt, however, had to remind himself that they were "together" and he really shouldn't yelp just because Alfred was holding his hand.

"C'mon bro, I'm hungry and I haven't seen you all day and I missed you." Again, a smile so warm it could melt the poles -which was pretty important, considering how much of Matthew was ice-capped- shut off his ability to say anything mean against the affection. It would be like kicking a puppy that had just licked your face. Matt was fond of puppies. Especially blonde ones.

Matthew let himself be dragged down the hall, listening to Al chatter happily about superheros and world politics and how if he could just engineer a mixture of the two, he could save the world. Matt was preoccupied wondering how the the world Alfred could manage to stay so warm, when freezing rain was beating the buildings like they'd killed someone and he was shivering even inside the hoodie. Maybe... maybe it was just part of Alfred's charm, to be warm all the time. Warm. Happy. Loving.

* * *

><p>You know how when you start doing something and you <em>really <em>get into it and the ball's rolling, everything's working out just _fine_... and a Frenchman decides to strut in and tear your work to shreds? It's not a good feeling, like a giant emotional sinkhole. Given that, Alfred's going under pretty fast. Find a way to set the plan in motion? Check. Get Matt comfy and start flirting. Check. _Double_ check. Hold his hand? Check. Kisses, hugs, and pillow talk. Check.

And then Francis came in and set him back to square one.

"You mean he just came up to you and _asked? _That's ballsy." _What did you say? _It was kinda hard to focus on one thing: Matt was across from him, flustered and fuming about being asked if he was in a relationship with none other than the man who sat listening now, there was a half-eaten hamburger on his plate beckoning his taste buds, and there was a child running around outside playing a game of tiny Batman vs... Was that the Hulk?

"I know, eh! And he was so- so _jerkish_ the way he did it too! Like it was all fake and there was no wa-" He cut himself off and turned his gaze to the table, "Like there was no way anyone like you would ever wanna deal with anyone like me..." It took a minute for it all to set in, Matt looked really hurt, and Al wanted nothing more than to hug him and kiss him and tell him all those marvelous things about him that he wanted to. That's not very smart though. _Look before you leap, right? _Instead, he shoved his plate over and reached over the table to tug on the blue sleeve of his hoodie until he looked up. When he did, Alfred made sure to stare him in the eyes.

"Hey, forget them, okay? We'll show them how wrong they can be about so much. We'll show them what makes us different." He sent Matt a smile and checked the clock, a frown replacing his grin. Sadly, he raises his hand, "Now brofist me, I gotta go."

The corners of Matthew's mouth twitched up and he bumped his knuckles on his brothers, watching him stand and rake the trash onto the tray fondly. Maybe it wasn't that bad to be with Alfred all the time. He found himself wondering, as he dazed out, fully expecting Al to leave for his meeting, what it would be like to be _with _his brother, outside of pranks.

He felt something brush against his forehead and focused in time to peer down the collar of a red hoodie as Al leaned over and planted a kiss on his forehead. He lingered for a moment, letting the warmth transfer from his body down to Matt's stomach and light it on fire, before pulling away with a smile.

"We're lovers, remember? See you after the meeting, Mattie."

* * *

><p>Alfred's meeting didn't last near long enough, not long enough for Matt to cage the butterflies raging in his torso, or collect himself enough to be ready for his next hurtle.<p>

He and Alfred had to part ways and go home. The prank was still on. How would they keep this up? What if it was all exposed? Or worse, what if Al had some huge finale planned. A dip and a kiss. A banner. Oh GOD, a proposal. He shook the thoughts from his mind. Of course Al wouldn't to that. Pshh! Why had he even thought of it?

A light smile took over his lips as he nestled the last of his things into the suitcase. The kiss might be pretty nice, embarrassing, but if it was anything like he was imaging, it would be worth it. He let his mind wander: what did Alfred taste like? Would he get to hold him after that? He imagined their interactions after that. Little touches -like they did now, but more intimate, arms around waists instead of punches to shoulders. He felt his cheeks get hot.

The automatic lock lit up with a beep and the door swung open to reveal Alfred, grinning and running a hand through his hair.

"Hey Mattie." He peeled the suit jacket from his shoulders and yanked the hem of his dress shirt out as he walked over.

"How was the meeting?" He went to turn around, only to be caught in a hug. Two arms slid around his waist and his cheeks took flame. Though, to his credit, he managed to regain mobility and pat his brother's arm. Alfred squeezed him then set out after his things he was yet to pack, talking steadily.

"It was boring, like always. Apparently it's not respectable to doodle the Superman logo in every letter O of official documents." He shrugs and chunks his toothbrush through the bathroom door, "Normal, I guess."

Matt took the liberty to retrieve some things, most notably that lovely, lovely pair of pants Alfred wore the other day. He smiled at the fabric, unaware that Al had seen the action and was grinning to himself in the mirror.

Square Two.

He leaned around the door frame, wiggling his fingers when Matt looked up, quickly folding the jeans.

"Saw that."

"Shut up Alfred."

**A/N: **I have nothing to say about how horribly late this is. No excuses. Thank you for bearing with me, so much. I really love you reviewers(and readers, but I don't know you.)


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

An arm slung over his shoulder sent a thrill through his chest for the umpteenth time today, and his brother's adoring laughter chimed in Matthew's ears. He hadn't decided if he really _liked_ the way his heart drummed at the touches quite yet, but at the very least, he'd gotten used to Alfred's antics over the past few days.

Too bad the meetings were over.

That same arm slid down his back and found itself a home in the oh so slight curve of a slim waist. Matthew felt the familiar pressure that came from the kiss planted in his hair. Warmth spread quickly in the time it took from the kiss to end, to having whispers reach his ears.

"I'm gonna miss you Mattie..." Heh. The smile that had crept on his face wavered. _Oh yeah_. They didn't have long until their cars got here, and then they'd be separated and the prank would be over. They were even back in their respective hoodies. It was pretty sad, now that he'd let himself get attached. Matt took the moment he had to soak it all in, even if it was fake, it felt real enough by now. He tried his best to block out the hungry eyes watching them from where the others stood waiting on their own drivers and focus only on Alfred.

It wasn't too hard, with the way Al shined like the Sun in everything he did. The spark in those blue eyes that could drive anyone to insanity, the reverberation of his voice, though the words seemed more childish than they should be half the time, it all made him so toxic. How could you help hovering until you were radiating as bad as any nuclear reactor?

"You won't have time to visit, eh?" Of course he could make the time, but this was the end of the prank, the perfect situation for a conclusion. Matt kept the gentle smile up for the bystanders.

"Probably not. They got mad at me for spending so much time on you lately." He grinned, "Which was totally worth it."

And Matt had to grin along as he was tugged farther into the side he fit so perfectly to. Geography, and all that. Alfred's grin ebbed into a smile as his car pulled up. He was itching to leave as he pulled away, bothering to keep a hand for the crowds -a thoughtful gesture for him.

"Bye Al-"

A hand slid under his chin, tilting it perfectly in time to the lips that came to meet his. It was brief, but his gut twisted and his eyes flew open. There wasn't even time to react before they were broken by the grin stretching into the kiss. Alfred's lips had disappeared and Matt -red faced and stuttering- was left fidgeting with the red fabric on his stomach, watching with an uncontainable smile as Al turned around completely in his seat to wave out the back window.

"See ya soon baby!"

* * *

><p>Level: Boss.<p>

Setback: Mastered.

Goal: Achieved.

Status: Cloud Fucking Nine.

Al managed to collect himself before his dear first lady took his maturity into her own hands and buckled himself in for the ride to the airport. He couldn't focus, and no one tried to make him. He'd just kissed Matt and gotten away with it. The plan was working. Now, the next phase can begin.

Now, the _real _wooing starts. A smile played out on his lips with every inch he moved away from Matt. The thought made his chest ache, but his grin grew.

_Distance makes the heart grow fonder._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Transitional chapter. Very short. Expect a _real _plot soon and enjoy some change in dynamic.

Sorry they're so spaced out, school's trying to kill me, I swear.

Now, I'm going to bed.

-RHT.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

You know what you do after your 'lover' kisses you for the first time in public? You're supposed to go into action, grab them by their silky star-spangled ties and kiss them back for all you're worth. You should to wrap your arms around them, pull them close, and make them feel loved.

Note the word: should.

In context: should have.

Literal translation: did not.

He didn't kiss back, too lost in his own petty thoughts to comprehend the situation, nor did he so much as remove his arms from mid-flutter in the air, one raised to wave his brother off, the other having risen in surprise. At the time, nothing had crossed his mind, each of his thoughts too scrambled to mean anything. Though, ironically, the rest of his day was flustered as he tried desperately not to remember the way Alfred's eyes had beamed at him, hooded and dark, but shining with something he dare not label.

And that was exactly his problem. How was he supposed to work on this budget with these little angels and demons on his shoulders? One whispering about the joy, the butterflies, the smolder in the smirk that night in their hotel room... The other repeating to him of all the reminders that shattered the scene. Al was a good actor, he'd seen that first hand. If he could fake bravery in the face of so much turmoil, it would be the simplest thing to pretend to be in love with someone he was close to anyway.

Action heros did it all the time, didn't they?

Of course that's what he was doing. Don't be an idiot. It was his own fault anyway, if he'd never bothered to make a fuss of it the whole thing would never have started. They'd still be the way they were, brothers and bros: they'd fight over hockey games and go racing and play with wildlife, or they'd pile up on the couch and watch horror movies, or play games and kick each others' asses at irregular intervals. If he'd never started this -even if the prank was Al's doing- he wouldn't have this problem: all these emotions nagging on his heart, pulling his eyes to his phone, or forcing his brain to wonder what went on in D.C. at 6:00 PM.

Al would be back home. Working. Probably not bothered in the least about the kiss, or the cuddling, or the emotional roller coaster winding through the Great White North at current. Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. What was he going to do? Certainly not _work_... With a glance at the clock he gathered his things into a satchel bag and slung it across his chest. He could always catch up with everything tomorrow, after a good night's sleep and some time to clear his head of-

"Mr. Williams?"

Matthew turned to the door of his office, jacket barely in hand as a delivery boy -how old was he? 16?- stepped a little awkwardly over the threshold. In his hands he carried a bouquet of... were those purple roses? He stared for a moment, rapidly turning red as the youth shuffled between his feet, holding out a card to him.

"I'm -ah, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to read that. It didn't come with instructions..."

"E-eh?" Matt cleared his throat and hung his jacket over his arm, taking the card and examining it for an address, "W-where'd it- _they_ come from?"

"Washington D.C."

He took the flowers into one arm, gaping at the ideas swimming around in his head. Did Alfred send them? Why would he do that? _When _had he sent them?

"Oh! Uh, thank you. Do I owe you anything?" Matt reached for his wallet, but the kid waved it away, shrugging.

"Nope. Your girlfriend already tipped me for it." He gave Matt a nod, smirking at the flowers as he turned to go, "She's a keeper."

"Y-yeah," Maybe the kid had a point... If... well, Alfred is a knucklehead. There's no denying that, but he was genuine enough at the meetings. At least, it couldn't _all_ have been acting. There were kisses and touches no one could have possibly seen. "I know." A smile crept over his face and he sunk back down into his desk chair. The teen was gone now, boarding the elevator with the mail lady down the hall, and Matt was left to his own devices.

Of course, just because Alfred sent him flowers doesn't mean anything. Flowers -such a girly thing to send, but what else would _Alfred _send? Matt's eyebrows knit together over the eyes trained on the violet roses he held. Roses with petals the same color -or at least as close as foliage could get- to his own eyes. He was sure he was overly romanticizing it, but the idea was sweet and made his heart swell up a little. He sat back in his desk chair, turning around towards his computer so no one could see, and took a moment to trace his fingertips over the blooms. Roses...

Roses were a declaration of love in Italy... well, the red ones. These were purple, but roses all the same. Francis always liked to ramble about giving a single rose to his lovers, so that they might have something to remember him by -which he was always punctuate that with the, 'As if last night with moi, would not be enough.' and a classic French laugh.

Matthew could laugh like that. His lips quirked up into a smile, and he very seriously considered laughing to himself in his office. Though he thought better of it, he could see Alfred doing it. Alfred... Alfred was a lot more out going than him: louder, more confident, -Matthew snorted- fatter. All those things that he was though, as he pulled a rose from the plastic to study it, Al was a big baby. If anyone in the world was going to know Alfred F. Jones, it would be himself, and he knew for a matter of fact that his brother was nothing more than a 19 year old kid with lots of hobbies, very little time, too much power, and no idea what he should be doing -so he'll just eat and play video games and gallivant around with figmental chaps and a six-shooter playing Texas Ranger for the world.

He allowed himself a laugh. Alfred actually looks horrible in chaps. He spend too much time giggling and walking around because 'the leather feels cool' than actually being a badass.

Matthew checked the clock -6:20. Had he really spent his 20 minute drive home rocking gently in his office chair, cradling a bundle of roses and contemplating the romantic advice of a delivery boy? _Mon dieu_, what's wrong with him? He got to his feet and slipped his jacket back on, the card he'd left sitting on the edge of his desk catching his eye on his way out. He picked it up and, as quietly and discretely as he could, carried his cargo into the elevator to hide.

If no one saw him, no one would be making cooing noises at him tomorrow as asking about the lucky lover. He _really _didn't want to explain that after plaguing his mind for weeks, his brother had kissed him, drove off waving from the back of a government vehicle, and sent them the day after. And they would ask questions. Question Matt doesn't know the answer to. _They would ask if he liked it. _Oh no no no.

He just won't be seen. As he went to shift the bouquet, his hand brushed something.

"Oh the card! I better read that.." It was a good sized thing, not just a To-and-From card. Was that-? Yep. It actually had a piece of notebook paper folded up and stapled to the back. He smiled at that, Alfred was really such a dork. And so there it was, unfolded, scrawled out in that messy handwriting only Al could pull off, it read:

_Matt. Hope you like flowers dude. I guess it just felt weird running off like that after the kiss, yanno? You remember Franky's old romance stories? -_Matt could practically see the goofy grin on his brother's face- _Well here's something to remember me by until next time, ok? Love Al. _

Honestly, Matt thought to himself as he folded the note back up and stuck it in his pocket, how could anyone see this guy riding a bull? Alfred was way to sweet.

Not that it meant anything, right?

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Do I dare say anything on my own behalf? There. Have it. It's done. I'm going back to bed.


End file.
